Jesus, I my cross have taken,
All to leave and follow Thee;
Destitute, despised, forsaken,
Thou from hence my All shall be.
Perish ev’ry fond ambition,
All I’ve sought or hoped or known;
Yet how rich is my condition!
God and heav’n are still mine own.

Let the world despise and leave me;
They have left my Savior, too;
Human hearts and looks deceive me;
Thou art not, like them, untrue.
O, while Thou dost smile upon me,
God of wisdom, love and might,
Foes may hate and friends disown me;
Show Thy face and all is bright.

Man may trouble and distress me;
‘Twill but drive me to Thy breast.
Life with trials hard may press me;
Heav’n will bring me sweeter rest.
Oh, ’tis not in grief to harm me
While Thy love is left to me;
Oh, ’twere not in joy to charm me
Were that joy unmixed with Thee.

Go then, earthly fame and treasure;
Come, disaster, scorn, and pain.
In Thy service, pain is pleasure;
With Thy favour, loss is gain.
I have called thee ‘Abba, Father’;
I have stayed my heart on Thee.
Storms may howl, and clouds may gather;
All must work for good to me.

Soul, then, know thy full salvation;
Rise o’er sin and fear and care
Joy to find in ev’ry station;
Something still to do or bear.
Think what Spirit dwells within thee,
Think what Father’s smiles are thine,
Think that Jesus died to win thee;
Child of heav’n, canst thou repine?

Haste thee on from grace to glory,
Armed by faith, and winged by pray’r.
Heav’n’s eternal days before thee;
God’s own hand shall guide us there.
Soon shall close thine earthly mission;
Soon shall pass thy pilgrim days;
Hope shall change to glad fruition,
Faith to sight, and pray’r to praise.

- Henry Lyte